May the winds of fortune sail you, May you sail a gentle sea. May it always be the other guy who says, “this drink’s on me.”

May you – Work like you don’t need the money, love like you’ve never been hurt, dance like no-one is watching, screw like it’s being filmed, and drink like a true Irishman.

Here’s to heat – not the kind that ignites and burns down shantys – but the kind that exictes – and slides down panties!

Let’s drink to California, way out by the sea, Where a woman’s ass, and a whiskey glass, Made a horse’s ass of me.

For (insert city of your choosing) hath no sober man, Or none of milk sop thinkers, And no philosophical fools, But great and glorious drinkers!

Here’s to the women in the high-heeled shoes, who smoke men’s fags and drink men’s booze; and when they kiss, they kiss so sweet, they make things stand that have no feet!

May your Guardian Angel be at your side to pick ya up off the floor and hand ya another cold stout from the store.

Here’s champagne to your real friends – And real pain to your sham friends!

Merry met, and merry part, I drink to thee with all my heart.

Wind to thy wings. Light to thy path. Dreams to thy heart.